Halloween special: So chain you say?
by li ross
Summary: FIXED AND PROOF I SHOULDN'T WRITE HALF-ASLEEP, SORRY!Striked my mind this morning, hope you like it. I got into the topic of "contracts" and of Oz having "made a contract" with Gil when they first met... So, hope you like this fluff/commedy/babbling with a slight touch of Halloween scent. Ozbert, already a couple flashbacks. (Spoilers R. 78 -small, but meaningful)


_UPDATE?! And from me?! What's going on? WHO am I?! _

_Well, uhm, yeah... Hello guys! I've been out for much longer than I could excuse myself for, drowning in exams and other end of school-year projects of the kin, to the point I had to more or less "suspend" the part of my life that's actually MINE for a long while... Anyway, Happy Halloween! (Which happens to be my favourite day of the whole freakin' year) and inspiration couldn't not strike me today it seems, besides it will be my only "free" day (I only have to give one or two oral presentations on rather easy subjects so yeah, that's a free day). _

_So, hwy! Here's some Halloween ozbert for you, because I'm simply THAT original. Hehe. _

_If you've read this far already, I'm lovin' you. If you plan on keepin' readin', we'll marry (jk!)_

_But seriously, thanks a lot for simply opening this and if you happen to find the will to leave a comment, good, bad, intermediate, dizzy (?)... whatever kind of comment, I'll be soaring with happiness :3 (And, EVENTUALLY, reply. Come November please T.T)_

_fine, fine, I'll cut it out now! :)_

_Enjoy~_

_**So chain you say?**_

Gilbert Nightray, or Baskerville… or Vessalius, or whatever other surname you may want to add (he did not care anymore; names had proved to be beyond any meaning by then) woke up this morning to dread, and I mean **dread** the calendar.

So much in fact, that he considered the possibility of pinning himself to bed the whole day if necessary, and simply pretend there was one day less in the year.

That, however, would have caused a conflict of interests, and, also, it would have been **illegal**.

You'll see, by the time they'd started a relationship, Gilbert whatever-the-surname-he-had-chosen-not-to-care had been required to sign a contract. A real contract, that is, bunches of papers and formal blank ink quill pens included.

He had known Oz to be a sadist, and a masochist as well as a bully from times to times, but now, fetishism? That had been a new one for him.

Apart from that, he could not help considering a fetish for legal framework to be, at the very least, unconventional and questionable).

However, it Gil had to admit this unexpected turn of events had not been unprecedented. Going back into their memories (so many meanings had been revealed to be held within that word, lately) he realized it hadn't even been a novelty between them, considering the many clauses regarding his loyalty and functions as a servant he'd had to sign the very first time he'd met Oz.

Moreover, being them both nobles – at least supposedly, even if the notion still felt foreign inside Gilbert's mind – it would have been almost natural for them to have prenuptial contracts when the time came, regarding private property of their families, titles, lands owned… Even if theirs had been of quite a different kind of contract.

(First time he'd though about that particular aspect in more or less the same words, he'd had to hide his face behind the nearest book, or pillow, or handkerchief, all as a result of the burning, cherry-coloured blossom the word "pre-nuptial" and some related ideas had planted on his cheeks. Truly, it had been a fun state to observe. )

But just now, as he once again felt the need to complain about this sole characteristic of the boyy's, the idea of Oz seeking for a "contract" sounded pathetically lifelike, like some missed clue they should be able to laugh at when the end of all trouble came.

Back when he first hear of the treaty, the idea had almost dropped the tall, black-clad and supposedly grown-up man to the floor on his ass, painting some mixture of a moue, grimace and 100% all-natural shock on his face (in a hilarious way).

You might have pitied the man, considering the painful, distressing and heart-wrenching anxiety he'd had to fight against harder than he'd have done against the five black winged chains, Humpty-Dumpty, Cheshire, and the Mad Hatter or an army of cats, only to stand tall in front of his precious piece of sun and manage to part his lips if only a very little. Only then, while he struggled against that turmoil of emotions, had he regretted having missed his left hand for the first time, or he would have been able to twist and bend his fingers like a madman to release nervousness, or bitten his ten nails up to his elbows at least.

That entire he'd been through, and only to get the first word – no, the first sound – out! That could very well have passed for torture, yet he'd also been given the chance to feel his heart's beat raise to achieve a speed hardly within the limits of healthy - or of human.

You could say that had been painful.

Once more for the first time, he'd got the chance to feel glad of being a Baskerville, as he would more easily heal in case of haemorrhage. That was, if he did not explode beforehand.

He had thought he'd have less of a hard time to remember such an important event as his confession in the future, but he didn't, and this morning was once again proof. The situation had been so extreme –at least inside his mind – so purely consistent of a chaos of words, stutters, half-made explanations and squirms, that his brain had been almost unable to record everything in any form that would be decode-able in the future. Furthermore, he doubted he would want to recall all the nonsense he'd said and done had he had the chance.

Halfway through, none the less, he was sure the little, lovable, magnificent **brat **before him had caught a glimpse of meaning out of the stutter, but he had still pretended oblivion for the sake of his servant's torture.

About half an hour later, perhaps 45 minutes, he came to communicate his point inside that locked to the world and almost empty of furniture drawing room which had been feeling each time more similar to a prison to him, in spite of its huge panel windows, chandeliers, brocade-framed mirrors and parquet floor, which could have conferred the well-lit room the air of a fairy tale chamber had the air inside of it not felt as heavy as lead.

After such a time, the only remaining seat –a sofa- in the room had received them comfortably, one almost outstretched al laying on it full length (shoes off, of course), the other tangling one hand on his hairs and sitting on the quarter of seat left for him as he attempted to handle the hell he'd gotten himself into. Had the possibility of reward not been so heavenly, that situation would certainly have been classified as a promethean torture.

At last, the message had been stated, and then had come the tears, the stunned emerald-coloured irises and the words of everything Gil considered unfair and untrue about his master, even if the blonde kept on trying to claim so. Words about sin, about unworthiness of the least recognising kind. And all he could do was hug, and grab, and hold, as he whispered the gentle denials he so clearly realised were the only truth. Anyway, he'd let all that frustration and insecurity blossom out of heart that had too long struggled to hide them inside.

It had hurt. Yes, indeed it had hurt to see his lovely young mast- Oz, suffer such unneeded distress; and, on the most selfish side of the matter, to have no answer of any kind after his almost straight-forward confession. Yet, that storm had been necessary, both for him and, specially, for his wounded master.

Luckily or deservedly, before Raven's contractor had run out of synonyms for the word "no", the 25 or a million year-old teen found within himself or his companion, proof enough to believe he was worthy of life and all of his friends and, most importantly, of love. Magically, the saddest of embraces mutated into a tender inauguration of a happiness they both hoped would last until their own very end, whether their immortality was abyss-granted or not.

So when lips met, the enchantment was free to flow through their previously freezing veins; now heated to a point almost beyond comfort.

Also, somewhere in the middle of such an easy, placid memory, the spooky side of Oz had managed to grab a place.

No long had Gilbert enjoyed the physical side of his reward after more than 10 years of struggle, when the vessel of such reward –or reward himself– jumped back and away from him, leaving a much too airy space between Gil's left arm and chest.

Immediately after the devilish smirk came back again causing the taller's already wide-open eyes to grow even more shocked. That smirk had been, he believed, one of the few things that had remained the same in his master, much like his enormous, selfless and forever kind heart. Now he realised, though, that in spite of such belief, he'd been wrong.

He'd been so wrong.

Now that a veil of anguish and doubt had been at least somewhat removed from Oz'ss heart and general outlook, that smile looked all the more radiant, those eyes unthinkably brighter than they'd already been.

Gilbert had felt the utter urge to race and simply kiss the other's soul out of him. The feeling of ecstasy that filled him with the view of such a transformation had burst through him madly, to the point where he even forgot to fear the ideas that would conceive such gesture in his newfound lover's eyed.

He'd been such a fool.

As a result, when Oz had stretched his fingers wide in front of him and over his brand new love's chest to cut him short, Gilbert became the illustration of blank misunderstanding.

There, he'd been doomed. If he'd considered the previous process of confessing and heart-healing complex, this new situation had soon erased those ideas as it had become the installation of tedium.

You'll see, not only had he suddenly been immerse in the trouble of establishing a legal framework to their ... affair, but the fact was that he would only and solely gain access to such... state once they had come to an agreement on this newly conceived contract. And all of that had bloomed from inside of Oz's mind, in less than a second, at the moment where the other could control himself the less.

But no, there was no possible denial of Oz's wishes that time.

Gilbert would never forget just how long it had taken for them to conclude such "document". The blonde's enthusiasm could sometimes defeat the limits of weird, or even of imaginable, no matter how imaginative or exaggerated you may believe you are. Gil would never admit it, either; nor how simply **painful **it had been to be forced to get rid of ambrosia when he'd only just been able to taste it and survive, for the first time.

Eventually, the "no-touching" rule had been replaced by a "no kissing" gentler one after the first couple of hours, for boredom had begun to strike his master as well, to the point where he fhad felt the urge to resolve they could, at least, lay on the rather short sofa instead of remaining on foot like fools while they argued.

Yes, because no couple has ever made it without an argument, even if that argument if full of laughter and nonsense and made of pure love, they had had to had their first time... for that at least. And there had been three clauses that had caused such argument to grow beyond any limit.

Finally, Gilbert had managed, after an herculean effort, to remove the clause which stated that he'd never cause himself any harm or endanger his being for the sake of Oz's safety in the future. No matter how crazy the idea of getting Gilbert of all people to agree to that may sound, the amount of impetus Oz had put into trying to support this resolution had made interesting ideas about the boy's true strength and abilities at other situations cross Gilbert's mind. Still, by no means would he have given that idea any chance to succeed. No matter how closed minded he may have appeared to be, that would **never** had been a possibility.

Therefore Oz had been, or felt, defeated. But he would not perish without rendering blow for blow.

As a (quite amusing) result, Gil had got subdued to accept a series of conditions regarding all aspects of their intimacy, behaviour, every day routine...

And today. There had been this special clause which established today, the 31st October, would be once again his turn to pay.

It was a fortunate fact the he had a great shoot on both hands – now on one – for he was certain he'd never succeed as a diplomat after this one major concession. Break had always been the one to convince people... By whatever means.

Gilbert honestly believed he'd forever remember the words of his condemn:

"Oh well, and you'll dress up as a kitty every Halloween. Full day. And** I'll** choose the outfit. "

He'd tried denial, of course. But, just like before, there had been no chance of succeed. He'd had to choose between that, or full annulation of the contract. And he knew what that would mean.

To have previously stated his feelings were more than absolutely requited, Oz had seemed pretty much very capable of refusing what they'd just supposedly got into, if necessary, only to torture him.

The boy was certainly a sadist.

...or perhaps he simply knew Gil's weakness too well. After all, Gil's weakness was simply **him, **and anyone could have seen he'd not last 30 more seconds without having his needs of golden strands and green eyes fulfilled.

As a tall, black haired man tagged in bed for another hour longer that he should, fully awake but unwilling to start the day, the one who'd been his bed companion over the mattress earlier, while the clocks had claimed it was still **sane **to remain underneath sheets, burst through the room's door, smiling brilliantly and carrying this year's chosen costume.

It seemed like the colour would be turquoise as well. Sincerely, having seen the **shape and size **of the garments, they could as well have been transparent. Shade was not something to worry about by then.

So what was Oz carrying, you ask? Well, first of all, hairpins with attached ears and the most sophisticated whiskers, designed to grab onto the victim's nostrils unnoticeably. Along with those came some matching half point shoes (Gilbert was already tall enough for Oz to have some height problems).

Finally, _"la crème de la crème": _Oz's « ideal outfit » was completed by a set of rather innovatively (and revealingly) cut lace top and the smallest of briefs, which Oz made sure to announce might very well be exchanged by a thong he was certain to have ordered as well.

Gilbert's growl from beneath the covers was in no way similar to a "meow", but it surely meant to say "no, thank you", or any phrase of similar meaning.

Since his servant seemed all reluctant to move, Oz approached the bed and grabbed a seat on its side. Speaking gentler than he should have been allowed to after what he'd chosen for his supposedly loved one's disgrace showed him to be much more satanic than he seemed, he got Gil to uncover at least half of himself, and started running a few fingers up and down the other's chest. You could have almost believed him an innocent creature.

It was then than Gilbert decided to grant himself with the only form of revenge he'd manage to gain access to after their long argument on the drawing room's sofa long ago.

It happened to be that Oz was extremely ticklish on certain unimagined spots, and he'd only discovered such thing after so many years.

Well then, he had to make up for a long time without taking advantage of that fact.

With speed and agility worthy of what he was soon to dress as, the golden-eyen man threw his master, fast yet carefully, over the mattress' centre, and experiencecedly graced his feet's sides and thighs with long, skillful fingers.

Not a second later, violent outbursts of uncontrollable laughter were echoing through the bedroom –and possibly the whole mansion – along with comments on how painful Gilbert's death would be. None of them, however, could have claimed they weren't enjoying their time, as long as Oz did not drown thanks to a lack of air.

Midday was seeming rather nice for a Halloween day, and there was even the vague scent of pumpkin pie spreading slowly through the whole building, until the final sentence was stated.

- He- Heeyyy Gil! – Oz managed in between spasms of laughter and short breaths – y-Uou are defINITELY we-WEARING t-that tho…thonge.


End file.
